


and i feel so all alone

by classics_club



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot-relevant porn, Smut, sad boys having sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classics_club/pseuds/classics_club
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re right,” Shiro smiles through the words because anything else hurts. His parasol does little to deflect the rain and it drips coldly, cruelly, onto his hair and down the back of his neck to soak into his collar, roll down the curve of his spine. “I might not be Yashiro Isana at all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i feel so all alone

**Author's Note:**

> so i guess this is an alternate ending to episode seven where shiro and kuroh go to his address and find the stadium, but munakata never shows up and they go back to the dorm instead. anyway, it is a strong belief of mine that this pairing is greatly under-appreciated
> 
> here have some porn
> 
> (fic title from the song all alone by fun.)

It’s raining. Shiro is already soaked but opens his parasol anyway; he does not want Kuroh to see his face as they watch they empty stadium, its garish colors muted by the downpour.

Its very existence is the last slice through his gut by fate. It wouldn’t matter when Kuroh killed him. He is already dead.

Kuroh turns to him, something pensive and anxious in his slate eyes. The left corner of his mouth has tipped slightly downwards, betraying his attempts to retain ever-present neutrality. “It appears,” the words are slow and carefully chosen. “you are not who you think you are.”

“You’re right,” Shiro smiles through the words because anything else hurts. His parasol does little to deflect the rain and it drips coldly, cruelly, onto his hair and down the back of his neck to soak into his collar, roll down the curve of his spine. “I might not be Yashiro Isana at all.”

Neko is perched in her cat form by the door of his dorm when they return, fur matted about her face, nursing a paw with her tongue. When he and Kuroh trudge up the stairs with an entourage of enraged cleaning robots on their muddy, dripping trail, she makes a pitiful noise and winds herself around their legs in what seems to be apology. Kuroh admonishes her with a half-hearted lecture about self-control, but when they enter the first thing his does is set out a saucer of warm milk and wrap her in a towel.

She is asleep within minutes, and the air settles with something heavy. Shiro stands numb in the doorway, water still dripping from his sleeves and hair when Kuroh pushes a towel at him. “Go draw yourself a bath. I’ll make dinner.”

He accepts the towel being ushered into his arms but does little else, besides mutter a near-inaudible “not hungry.”

Kuroh sighs and places kotowari against the wall, stepping around Shiro to undo his tie and tug off the jacket clinging to his thin frame, herding him gently towards the bathroom. “Shiro,” his voice is soft, but the name makes him flinch. “please.”

He swallows and attempts a flimsy smile, but even that is unattainable. Kuroh’s hand lingers on his shoulder for a moment before pulling away.

It rains all that night. Shiro watches from his bed, legs pulled tight to his chest as Kuroh slumbers on his floor, Neko curled up by his head. His hair fans out over the pillow in a black curtain, almost iridescent in the lamplight from outside; his mouth is parted slightly and the angry fold between his eyebrows has faded. He looks vulnerable, the embodiment of his mere eighteen years.

Shiro feels vaguely guilty, listless and afraid. He fists the sheets in one hand and whispers, almost unconsciously, “Please stay with me.”

Kuroh is a light sleeper. He stirs immediately, brow creasing, raising himself sluggishly up on his elbows to peer up at him, eyes soft from sleep. “Shiro? What’s wrong?”

He smiles and it catches this time, even if it does tremble at the edges. “Nothing, nothing!” he waves a dismissive hand even as his throat closes. “Just thinking. Sorry for waking you.”

Instead up huffing at him and turning over, as Shiro expected him to do, Kuroh stands and crosses to the bed, taking care not to disturb Neko in his wake. “Do you take me for a fool?” he asks, but his words hold no bite. He hesitates, teeth working at his lower lip, and speaks again. “Shiro. If there’s something bothering you,” the words sound stilted and unfamiliar, and the tips of Kuroh’s ears turn a pale shade of red. Shiro could almost laugh. “It’s of no use to any of us to keep it bottled up.” he settles gingerly on the edge of the bed and sits cross-legged, hands clasped in his lap. “You’ve been through a great deal. If it would help to talk about it,” and he reddens further. “I am here to listen.”

Only the rain beating against the window answers.

“Shiro-“

“How can you call me that name?” it comes out fast and desperate, along with a shuddery rush of air. “It might not even belong to me.”

Kuroh is quiet for a moment. “What would you prefer I call you?”

“I don’t know,“ he bites out, bitter, and then, “I’d prefer if you’d kill me. I might as well be the murderer, right? You have to slay me.” his eyes draw to kotowari, still abandoned against the wall. “If I’m not Isana Yashiro, then-“

“S-shiro,” he stumbles on the name, unsure, and then continues. “do you recall what I told you when we first met?”

He draws further into himself, smiling sadly. “You threatened to kill me.”

“Not that,” Kuroh crosses his arms, shakes his head. “I told you I would only judge a man based on his actions.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he goes slowly again, treading carefully, searching for the right words. “The Isana Yashiro I have come to know took no action befitting of a murderer. _That_ is what matters to me,” his teeth dig into his upper lip, working it to redness. “I can’t imagine I’ve helped much. But I don’t want you to hurt, Shiro.”

“Kuroh,” the name sounds strangled and harsh as his throat tightens further. Shiro’s eyes burn, threatening to tear, and his body starts to shiver. Acting on impulse, he unfolds himself and clutches the front of the taller boy’s nightshirt, gripping the thin fabric like a lifeline. “Kuroh, I don’t know who I am anymore.” He feels a comforting weight settle on his head as Kuroh raises a hand to tentatively stroke his hair, uncrossing his legs so that Shiro can situate himself between them and cling.  

They stay like that for a minute as the rain comes to a roaring crescendo, and Shiro thinks that just this should be enough, holding Kuroh like this, but it’s _not_ and he wants to feel real again, tangible, like he’s not just a wisp of smoke in windy air. His grip slackens, knuckles recoloring, and peers up into Kuroh’s face. He looks almost pained, the crease in his brow deepening, hair slipping over his shoulders to frame his pretty face as the lamplight reflects in his eyes and turns them golden.

Shiro reaches one hand up and soothes the lines in Kuroh’s forehead. “Kuroh,” he says, quiet and wanting. “help me know who I am again.”

“How?” Kuroh breathes, and then Shiro kisses him.

He brings his hand up to cup Kuroh’s jaw, feeling the skin heat under his fingers as Kuroh stiffens, then kisses back, tilting his head to deepen the angle, breathing a small sigh through his nose before pulling away. He’s pink in the face and looks somewhat stunned. “Why?”

“So I can feel real,” Shiro says, and kisses him again, and again, moving his hands from Kuroh’s face to his shoulders to his silky hair. Kuroh kisses back shyly, hesitantly, and when they part for breath he casts his eyes down. “Kuroh?” he asks, and his chest hurts, and he wants to go back to kissing so that he can forget. “Do you not want this?”

Kuroh’s eyes blink wide and he shuffles closer. “I- yes, I-I do,” he trips over the words somewhat, and must clear his throat before resuming. “but you’re sure this is what you need?”

“You’re what I need,” he exhales huskily, speaking against the soft skin at Kuroh’s earlobe. “Kuroh, please.”

Kuroh murmurs a noise of assent and the next time they kiss Shiro slides his tongue along the smooth curve of Kuroh’s lip, allowed entrance only after a quiet grunt of surprise. He swipes across Kuroh’s teeth, probes at the wet skin of his mouth, lets out a tiny gasp when Kuroh’s movements start to respond to his own. They’re both clumsy and inexperienced and there’s drool running down his chin and Kuroh accidentally bites his tongue but it feels _good_ and _right_ and _here_ , especially when Kuroh’s pleased hum rumbles from his throat and into Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro presses forward until they’re lying down on his bed, propped up on their elbows and pressed chest-to-chest. He can feel Kuroh’s breath heave erratically as their lips work hard and bruising against each other, a mess of teeth and tongue, trying fruitlessly to get closer, closer. He’s half-hard and can feel an incessant pressure against his thigh, and so Shiro draws back and gives an experimental roll of his hips. Kuroh rewards him with a low, desperate groan, body jerking underneath his.

“Kuroh,” he cries, voice shaking, and cants his hips upwards again so that their erections press together, a tight pleasure coiling at the base of his spine.

“Shiro,” Kuroh breathes in reply, one hand gripping painfully at his shoulder, the other wrapped tight in the sheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, lips swollen and pink from hungry kissing, chest rising and falling in tandem with Shiro’s. They grind frantically against each other for a few minutes, trying and failing to kiss through the rough noises spilling from their mouths until the friction ceases to be enough, and Shiro wants _more_.

He nuzzles against Kuroh’s nape and calls his name. “Kuroh- can you-” he cuts off with a pant when Kuroh grinds into him again. “t-touch-“

Kuroh blinks up at him, flushed and beautiful, and nods. He tugs at the waistband of Shiro’s pants, yanking them along with his boxers down just enough just enough to let his pale, rigid cock spring free, leaking precum at the tip, then pushes his trousers to his knees. Shiro moans as the tip of Kuroh’s length brushes his; the stimulation clouds his head and makes his whole body shudder. Kuroh reaches up and wraps an unsteady hand around both of them, breath coming in short bursts. The hot, heady feeling in his groin spreads as the sensation builds, as he jerks them off together, and Shiro presses his face into the mattress and shouts Kuroh’s name.

His nerves are tingling and he can feel himself on the edge of release, hips rutting harder into Kuroh’s touch, but orgasm doesn’t hit him until Kuroh tilts his head and presses a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Shiro arches his back and gives a final cry. He feels his own come spill over Kuroh’s hand and cock, and as he’s riding out his release Kuroh jerks against him and climaxes with a long, drawn-out sigh before going limp underneath him.

After he’s finished Shiro rolls off of Kuroh and curls into his side, exhausted and warm with the last vestiges of pleasure. Kuroh noses into his hair and whispers, soft, “Do you know who you are now, Shiro?”

Shiro nestles closer and shuts his eyes. He decides not to answer and drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> come join the kuroshiro army at iwowzumi.tumblr.com
> 
> (also neko is still in the room wow guys)


End file.
